


Tempers

by Udunie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Canon Era, Daddy Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overworking, Praise Kink, Rutting, Stress, daddy - Freeform, gentle!dom Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: Whatever compelled him, it mattered little. He had had enough.“Your Excellency,” he said, voice oddly reserved despite the fact that he would have liked to scream. “I’m not aware of committing any such thing, but since you say so, it must be true. I think we must part.”Washington furrowed his brows but his expression didn’t soften.“If you wish so,” he said.Alexander nodded, his mind made up and turned on his heels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, yes, this is my first fic for the Hamilton fandom! Please be gentle with me, as I'm not american, and don't even have the advantage of knowing these guys from history lessons in hs.
> 
> I have made some research, and parts of this fic will be much, much closer to the lives of the characters than the show, while others will be very divorced from reality. For example, I decided to not have Alex marry Eliza, because I'm not a fan on non-consensual cheating (and I headcanon Martha as an asexual, who married Washington exactly because he wasn't interested a sexual relationship) Still, I'm writing about the characters as depicted on Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton, and not about the actual, historical figures, if that makes sense.
> 
> Anyway. My undying thanks to the wonderful Emma who jumped right in after me into the madness that is Hamilton. I love you, hon!
> 
> Also! The next chapter of this fic will have sex! - I will update the tags when I actually figure out exactly what kind of sex they will be having LOL

**1771**

 

His back hurt, being bent over his papers for the better part of the day. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t take. Oh, he could take much more.

Still, it was uncomfortable; his legs also fell asleep under the table from not even standing up for lunch. But none of that mattered; he had a great deal of work to do; a new ship came in, bringing some much needed grain in exchange for crates of sugar. The books were a hassle; Alexander had to be very careful. He knew the captain, and the man was always ready to con his business partners out of their profits.

Not like  _ he  _ was the business partner, but Mr. Cruger counted on him, and it would have been a source of great shame if he let his master down.

“You’re still here, Hamilton?” Came the man’s voice from the stairs. He was a thin, rickety old man. The Caribbean hadn’t been kind to him and he was often sick with fevers and colds from the humid weather.

“Yes, Mr. Cruger,” he called out, getting up with some difficulty, his feet itching with pins and needles. It was already dark outside. 

He didn’t even notice how late it was.

Alexander picked up his candle and made his way over, not wanting his employer to have to descend the tedious stairs to talk to him.

“You should go home, boy. It’s almost midnight,” Mr. Cruger said. He had that weird look in his eyes that Alexander could never figure out, and especially not by the fickle light of a single flame.

“Captain Wallace has arrived today, sir. You know he will be here early tomorrow to pick up his share. He always expects the books not to be ready yet.”

And he always expected Alexander to mess up the calculations in his hurry and pay him more than he should. It never happened before, and he was adamant that it would never happen. 

“Hamilton…” the man said, hesitantly, holding onto the rails. He’d been getting bedridden a lot more lately, and while Alexander worried for him, he couldn’t help but feel proud to be trusted with the shop in those times, despite the meager fourteen years under his belt.

“You have a great deal of potential,” Mr. Cruger said, and Alexander straightened a bit at the unexpected praise. Not like his master was ever harsh with him, but he wasn’t forthcoming with his affections either. “And as much as I would like to say that you’re destined for greatness, you should not run yourself to the ground in your efforts.”

Mr. Cruger was a tall man, and he looked even taller, standing so far atop him. Almost imposing despite his willowy frame. Alexander opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but his employer raised his hand to stop him.

“You are nothing but a  _ clerk _ , Hamilton. There’s not much glory to be earned here, and you should… for your own benefit, I think you should not fool yourself with aiming for more. Ambition is a fine thing in those who have the means to act on it, but you are not one of them. I would rather see you healthy and satisfied with your lot, than to see you waste away, working yourself ragged to achieve the impossible.”

Alexander didn’t know what to say. He felt… he felt a great pain in his chest, of disappointment and humiliation. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a blow if it weren’t for Mr. Cruger’s voice being so gentle and quiet, like he cared. Like he was giving Alexander his best advice. Contempt he was used to. Jeering too, from all the captains and merchants who thought he was in over his head; just a child playing with numbers.

This was different. It hurt.

 

**1780**

 

The winter season was halfway over by the time Alexander got an invitation from General Schuyler. He hadn’t been surprised, considering that he had been exchanging letters with his daughter, Elizabeth, for the better part of a month - ever since they met during a ball at the beginning of winter.

She was charming, a good conversationalist and exceedingly kind, exactly the sort of person he imagined as his wife. Of course, her father’s fortune and influence were important too, but Alexander wasn’t stupid enough to rush into a marriage with someone he wouldn’t be able to tolerate. He wouldn’t have said that he was in  _ love _ , per se, but he hoped that would come eventually. At times like these it became a bit harder to keep himself distanced from emotional attachments, and for once he didn’t even try to fight it.

Alexander took meticulous care with his appearance. The Schuylers were at the very top of New York society and if he had any dream of joining their ranks, he would have to put in extra effort. After much consideration he decided to wear his uniform - cleaned and ironed - as Philip Schuyler was a veteran himself, and was said to appreciate military connections.

The house was - a bit surprisingly - almost completely empty when he arrived. He was led to the library and served tea while he waited. To his inquiry the servants told him that the ladies were out at the theater.

The man of the house didn’t delay for long, and met him a few moments later.

“Lieutenant Colonel, welcome. Thank you for joining me for drinks,” the general said, shaking his hand. He wasn’t a particularly imposing, but he still had a few inches on Alexander, just like - to his great pain - almost any grown man.

“General Schuyler, thank you for the invitation, it’s a pleasure.”

They conversed for a while, changing to a good, hearty bourbon after the tea was finished. Alexander wasn’t a regular drinker - he had the misfortune of doing business with countless drunkards back in the Caribbean - and he welcomed General Washington’s sober policies in the army.

Still, appearances had to be kept, so he accepted the glass Schuyler offered him.

Alexander tried to keep himself from being too opinionated, as he knew all too well that some found him a bit overly… passionate about politics. And all other matters of importance.

After about an hour of discussing the library’s rarer treasures - a safe topic between intelligent men - General Schuyler put his glass down on the small mahogany table by his elbow, threading his fingers together and giving Alexander a weighted look.

“As you probably guessed, Lieutenant Colonel, I didn’t invite you to my home out of pure courtesy,” he said. 

Alexander shifted in his seat. Of course. His mind had been buzzing with theories about why he was here, and he couldn’t help but hope that a potential marriage would be on the table.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak without getting carried away. Such rudeness would not be tolerated in this house.

“I’m aware that you’ve been in contact with my Elizabeth for a while now,” he said, his face as stern as always. “And I believe we should be seeing eye-to-eye on this matter.”

Alexander could barely keep himself from fidgeting. The general didn’t look particularly warm, but he was a stern man on the best of days, so it would have been foolish to jump to conclusions from his expression.

“Sir, I find Miss Schuyler… Elizabeth, to be a bright and incredibly kind young lady, I can assure you that my intentions are the most honorable,” he said. It was the truth. They haven’t talked about an engagement yet, but it felt like him and Elizabeth were dancing around the prospect in their most recent correspondence.

“I do not doubt that, Lieutenant Colonel,” the general said, picking up his drink and downing it at once before he continued. “You have came highly recommended from everyone I have spoke to about you. People say you are eloquent, quick witted and ambitious, all things a man would gladly welcome in a son-in-law.”

Alexander barely dared to breathe. This was his big chance. Yes, he was in the army, yes, he was serving under the - undoubtedly - most powerful man in the continent, but a good marriage could be the first step in his personal advancement.

“From the few times I had the good fortune to converse with you during the season, Lieutenant Colonel, I could confirm those assessments for myself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Alexander couldn’t help himself, and he gave General Schuyler a small smile. It was one of his greatest failings - his weakness to flattery.

The man nodded, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“As a general and a statesman, I feel your talents and potential would be a great asset to my family. Your prospects are no doubt bright and full of achievements in the service of our nation… At the same time, I’m more than a general and a statesman. I’m also a father, Lieutenant Colonel. Elizabeth is dear to me; as you say she is kind to a fault and she has a great trust in people to the point where I can’t help but worry for her.”

Alexander opened his mouth, ready to defend his intentions. He would never betray a lady like that, and he was desperate for the general to understand that, but he was cut off before he could launch into his speech.

“You have a great fire of ambition in you, Lieutenant Colonel. It shows bright and clear on your face whenever you get into a debate over anything of the slightest interest. That is an admirable quality, but, I can’t shake off the feeling that this incredible, hotly burning passion in you would - one day - scorch my Elizabeth.”

“Sir!” he didn’t even know what to say. Just the sheer implication that he would ever…

“Lieutenant Colonel, I do not doubt that you would never intentionally hurt her. You seem like a honorable gentleman, but I have learned to trust my instincts both on and off the battlefield, and my decision is final. I understand this is… not what you expected when you accepted my invitation. Please rest assured that you have my friendship and my support in whatever field you decide to try your luck in after the war,” Schuyler said, his face as serious as always, though his words sounded honest enough. Alexander could barely pay attention, so hard at work trying to keep his composure together.

“I would be honored to support you as a mentor or a patron - whichever you need. I will not ask you to stop your contact with my daughter either, as I believe she already feels a close friendship towards you, but I want you to know that I wish for it to stay just that. A friendship.”

It took him a few seconds too long to be able to formulate a response, but the general was kind enough not to show if he noticed. His throat felt tight, but he did his damndest not to let Schuyler know the humiliation he was feeling.

“Thank you for letting me know, sir. I will - of course - respect your decision on the matter and will do nothing to cross the line of propriety with Miss Schuyler,” he said, his voice sounding a bit too discolored, even for his own ears.

The general stood to see him out, and smiled when they shook hands in the door.

Alexander couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile before. It hurt.

 

**16th of February, 1781**

 

It took a bit of adjustment to get used to the life of the camp after their brief winter recess. It did not help that Congress kept pushing for a swift end of the war, constantly harassing the General to make advances they were not yet ready for.

It put General Washington in a foul mood and his flares of temper - so rare before, but almost a daily occurrence now - were much feared among his small army of aides. So far, Alexander had been spared the humiliation of a public argument, thanks to the fact that he worked twice as hard as all the others, and his General seemed to remember that even in his darkest moments.

Not like their relationship wasn’t strained enough already. He’d asked for a command on multiple occasions, even acquired Lafayette’s support in his crusade to gain a battalion, but the General was unmovable on the subject.

It was a smarting sore on his pride. He was one of the best tacticians among the continental officers - even Washington often required him to help in drawing up battle plans - and still, he was not trusted. Alexander didn’t know what to make of the situation, he just knew that every day he had to spend behind a desk penning down letter after letter to cowards hiding behind the safety of Congress’ walls was a day wasted. The war - despite the best efforts of the British - was getting closer and closer to closure and with that his chances to prove himself on the battlefield were slipping away.

With his plans for his marriage falling through, he had little chance to get himself higher in station. Oh, he didn’t doubt that General Schuyler would honor his promise in supporting him, but being a family friend of the Schuylers was a whole lot different than being married into the family. He was running out of options and every dismissal from his commander was like another slap to the face. Recently even Lafayette started to turn pitying eyes on him, and he could barely take it. 

He wanted to fight for this country with steel instead of the quill. Hadn’t he proved himself? He had been a Captain in charge of his own men before accepting his position as aide-de-camp and he had not brought shame to the army. During the worst days of Washington it was Alexander who wrote his letters, who drafted his commands and even the one who signed them, copying his General’s hand perfectly. For all intents and purposes, on those days he was running the army almost on his own.

It reminded him of his youth in the Caribbean; left for his own devices, doing a thankless job that gave him little reward other than the satisfaction of a task well done. Unfortunately, that satisfaction was only a brief relief from his constantly whirling thoughts that demanded that he rise and rise and rise until he was someone who could not be ignored or swept aside.

But Washington stayed unmoved by his pleas. 

He struggled constantly with his feelings for the man, because his commander was cool and unmovable, his perfect opposite in every which way. He’d been slow to anger where Alexander was ready to jump on any slight - perceived or real. He was reserved where Alexander was easily over-excited. Even in their appearance, Washington was a mountain of a man, his strength legendary, where Alexander was looked down upon for his small frame and delicateness. Washington was dark where he was light, his head bald where Alexander kept his own hair long.

Complete, polar opposites.

At the same time… Although he was loath to admit it, he couldn’t help but strive for even the smallest praise from this great man. Washington treated his aides as his family, but he wasn’t a particularly agreeable father; he was stern and demanding and always looking for perfection in their work. His compliments came rarely and quietly and Alexander spent most of his waking hours desperate to earn them.

Today was promising to be one of the tiring days. He’d spent most of the night hunched over his desk, as scouting reports arriving late in the evening made it necessary for about two dozen letters to other generals and officers to be rewritten in light of the new information.

He’d got maybe two hours of sleep, and then Washington was roused from his bed - along with his aides - to observe in person some developments along the frontline. They were not required to join him, but it would have been unseemly to be asleep when their Commander-in-Chief was already out and about.

Alexander spent his morning looking over the letters penned by his fellow aides, and advising them on corrections and errors. He knew that some of the men found it shameful that he - at barely twenty four years of age - was supervising men from higher places, often his seniors, but Alexander was long used to that. His whole life was spent dealing with people looking down on him for one reason or another.

Most of the time, he acted like he didn’t notice the nasty looks, the mean-spirited whispers that followed him everywhere, except for the circle of his closest friends. But that didn’t mean he was unaware of the barely veiled hostility towards his person. It was one of the strongest driving forces behind his ambitions; to prove all the naysayers wrong, to show them - and to the world - that he was more than his birth and his humble beginnings.

General Washington arrived back a little before lunch time, stomping into the tavern they commandeered as their headquarters. The ground floor was completely taken over by the aides; papers and quills covering every surface. Washington’s office and bedroom were on the second floor, and the General wasted no time to make his way upstairs.

“Sir, anything of note?” Alexander asked, standing from his desk as he closed an envelope addressed to General Green. Washington only paused for a second, not even gracing him with a look.

“It was a waste of time,” he growled out, swiping snow from the lapels of his coat. He half turned, face ridded with frustration. “I will dictate to you, Alexander, as soon as possible.”

He nodded. He’d guessed that the trip would be in vain, but the General had been adamant about going and he didn’t want to try his luck early in the morning by contradicting him.

“I will be right with you sir, I will just drop this letter off with the messenger,” he said, hurrying out the door.

Washington looked to be in a foul mood again, it would be best if he didn’t dally.

***

On his way back from the stables - the letter already safely on its way without delay - he crossed paths with Lafayette. It had been a few days since they last saw each-other, the Frenchman having been out to assist with the protection of a shipment of much needed supplies.

“Ham, my petite lion! How is life?” Lafayette asked, face splitting in a grin. Alexander gave him a tired smile of his own. He was in a hurry, but he couldn’t just ignore his friend.

“It kept us busy and on our toes,” he replied, trying not to read anything into Lafayette’s expression clouding with worry.

“Ah, it shows, mon ami, you look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days,” he said. It was true, unfortunately, but Alexander didn’t feel like going into details. For some reason the closer they came to victory, the more the paperwork became. The muscles in his back ached something horrid, and his usual stretches haven’t worked either. In any case, he took a second to make sure his posture was proper now, not wanting to worry his friend even more.

“Alas. I would rather hurry up then and have all my work done, so I can make up for some of my late nights,” he said, waving his goodbye.

Lafayette laughed, shouting after him.

“Do that, dear Hamilton. I will be with you shortly with my report!”

***

He mustn’t have been gone for longer than two minutes, but when he made his way up to the General’s office, he found Washington waiting for him on the top of the stairs instead of at his desk.

“Sir?” The man was wide enough to block his way, standing above him, and Alexander suppressed his recurring wonder at the imposing figure his commander cut. 

Washington looked thunderous.

“Lieutenant Colonel, you’ve made me wait for a long time, I’m not used to such blatant disrespect from you,” he said, voice carrying. 

Alexander felt himself froze where he stood. He didn’t know what it was; the tone of the words? His own exhaustion? The fact that he couldn’t free himself from the thoughts that… that he was just a glorified  _ clerk  _ again, with no means to advance? Or maybe the clear, cutting edge of disappointment in Washington’s eyes?

Whatever compelled him, it mattered little. He had had enough.

“Your Excellency,” he said, voice oddly reserved despite the fact that he would have liked to scream. “I’m not aware of committing any such thing, but since you say so, it must be true. I think we must part.”

Washington furrowed his brows but his expression didn’t soften.

“If you wish so,” he said.

Alexander nodded, his mind made up and turned on his heels.

***

He was trying to yank off the carefully sewed-on green ribbon of the aides-de-camp from the coat of his uniform - with little success - even before the last step of the stairs was behind him.

His mind, that have been curiously blank during the argument was noisy now, chasing thoughts about how he just couldn’t go on like this. Washington obviously didn’t care about him. Or his services. He got no respect, he got no… Washington was not his father. Not even his friend or anything else that intimate. It had been foolish to expect more of him than the scorn of people of high standing.

Alexander was so preoccupied with getting rid of the damned ribbon that he literally collided with Lafayette, who was just arriving.

The Frenchman steadied him, taking in his undoubtedly agitated state.

“Hamilton? Mon ami, what happened?” he asked, his concern obvious.

Alexander cursed under his breath, not caring who heard and opted for shedding his coat altogether - ribbon and all - pushing it into the hands of his startled friend.

“I’ve resigned,” he said, storming out the door and leaving Lafayette behind without a thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! This thing already got more attention than I could possibly dream off! <3
> 
> I originally planned to finish this in two chapters, but to quote my dear Emma:  
> "this is the slowest fucking build up I've ever read and I've read 19th century victorian novels."
> 
> Just so you know what you're getting into LOL

Washington sat down behind his desk, immediately regretful of the argument. The morning had been a godforsaken disaster; riding through snow and mud and all for nothing. He knew he shouldn’t have let his mood get the better of him… He could usually reign himself in, especially when he was facing Hamilton - the bright young man was at the same time much too valuable and much too delicate to stand his ire.

He knew that the boy would bristle at the sentiment, but Washington kept his eyes open and was perfectly aware of the challenges his most important...  _ aide  _ was already facing. He didn’t want to increase that already enormous pressure if he could help it.

Apparently, today he couldn’t.

Still, he was confident that it would blow over quickly. Hamilton had impeccable work ethic and the sort of love for the country he fought for that many man should have been envious of. They just needed a few minutes to calm down and smooth their ruffled feathers.

Washington rested his forehead in his palms, closing his eyes for a second. He’d been tossing and turning for most of the night - one of the reasons why he failed to check his temper.

When he heard a knock on the door, he was rushed with a sense of relief, not even looking up from his hands.

“Come in, Alexander. I must say, I’m regretful of my words earlier…”

“Sir,” came a voice that was decidedly not Hamilton’s and Washington looked up quickly, seeing the Marquis de Lafayette in his doorway. “I’m afraid the situation is more dire than that,” the young man continued. His face was unreadable, but it wasn’t hard for Washington to imagine that there was anger behind the careful mask, directed at him.

Lafayette walked up to his desk, placing a uniform coat on it.

The green ribbon of the aides-de-camp on the sleeve was hanging sadly, supported only by a few threads.

***

Lafayette bit back a curse in French as he hurried out of the headquarters. These two sweet, stubborn,  _ idiotic  _ men would be the death of him. He didn’t know what it was about Americans that made them so… prideful, but he had quite enough of it. 

He had to smooth things out, and the first order of that business had to be finding his dearest Hamilton.

The aides all had their sleeping quarters in the tents arranged close to the lodgings of their Commander-in-Chief, but Lafayette was dismayed to realize he didn’t know which one was Hamilton’s.

He’d never seen him outside of work before; no matter what insane hours he had to find his friend, he’d always been by Washington’s side, and really, that told him all about the importance of his current mission.

It took a few tries, but finally he happened upon him in a tent right beside the tavern. 

Hamilton was stuffing a bag with his spare clothes, some of his hair breaking free of the restraint of his ponytail and hang around his face, giving him an almost manic air.

“Mon ami! What are you…? What are you  _ doing _ ?” he asked, hurrying to his friend’s side and giving a glare to a young man who was just getting dressed in the corner. The soldier swallowed and made a hasty retreat outside, leaving them finally alone.

“I’m leaving, Lafayette,” Hamilton said. There was a slight growl in his voice, reminding him while he was called ‘petite lion’. He had a bite under that unassuming exterior.

What a shame that on occasion his friend also had the impulse control of an animal - which was unfortunately none at all.

“Non,” he said. “Non, non, non.  _ Impossible _ .”

Hamilton looked up at him, ready to argue, but whatever he saw in Lafayette’s face made him promptly close his mouth. That was good, because Gilbert wasn’t sure he could withstand one of his spiels. Hamilton had the uncanny ability to talk himself out of all sorts of misfortune and turn people’s opinions around.

“Mon ami, you can’t do that. Le Général… he sent me to get you. He wants to talk to you!”

He didn’t miss how Hamilton’s hands minutely paused in their task, but then his friend shook his head and continued his packing. Stubborn.

“Lafayette, I’m afraid my decision is final. I have nothing to say to him. He was the one who accused me of disrespect, it’s only polite to accept my resignation, considering how dissatisfied he apparently is.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. Laurens - who had been ear-witness to the argument told him what happened in hushed whispers. He wasn’t sure he ever heard of a quarrel more… banal.

He could have said a million things; berated Hamilton for his rashness, for his quick temper. But none of those things wouldn’t have led to the result he was desperate to get. His dear Hamilton was like a hedgehog - the more people prodded at his vulnerable parts, the pricklier he became.

“My dear, think for a second! You might have resigned from your position of aide-de-camp, but that doesn’t mean Washington isn’t still your commander. He is the Commander-in-Chief, as long as you are in the service at all, you are in  _ his  _ service. He sent for you, you can’t disobey!”

He could see that Hamilton was finally starting to come around, but he needed to push him just a little more.

“You can’t possibly desert! And disobeying orders would get you dishonorably discharged, mon ami. We both know there are enough people here who would love to see dressed-down and your name dragged through the mud, even if Washington himself wouldn’t push the issue.”

Hamilton sighed and stood, straightening his back slowly, with a pained expression.

“Alright,” he said, huffing out a breath. “One last time.”

***

Washington was giving orders to Laurens when Hamilton arrived, shadowed by the Marquis de Lafayette. Knowing the Frenchman, he was there making sure that Hamilton didn’t run off and actually came to him.

The whole tavern fell silent - his aides were as gossipy as old women - and he couldn’t help but stop mid sentence for a second to take in the appearance of his chief of staff.

Hamilton looked tired and brittle, with not even his jacket on to buff out his thin frame. Some of his glossy, dark hair had gotten loose, like he’d been fiddling with it in his temper. Despite the exhaustion hiding in the lines of his body, his eyes were bright, and he was looking Washington right in the eyes. Almost a challenge.

Washington considered him for a long moment, coming to a decision.

“Laurens, son. That will be all for today,” he said, patting the young man on the shoulder and then turned to the rest of the room.

“Gentlemen. I think we all deserve a few hours to ourselves after the difficult weeks behind us. You are all free to have an early lunch and retire, I will send for you in case of an emergency.”

There was a quiet murmur, a few muffled sounds of shock, but his aides finally started to filter out of the building. He didn’t miss the way some of them glared at Hamilton, but was glad to notice that the Marquis was more than ready to subtly sneer them into submission from his position behind his friend.

Laurens was the last to leave, glancing at Hamilton and Lafayette anxiously. The Frenchman gave him an encouraging smile.

“Run along, mon ami. I will be with you shorty,” he said.

Before he left, Lafayette turned his piercing gaze on him. Washington should have been offended to be looked at like that by a foreigner, but he was not. He wasn’t the sort of man who failed to make up for his mistakes, he liked to think. He nodded at Lafayette, and then finally the door closed, leaving him alone with Hamilton.

Hamilton cleared his throat.

“I believe I should thank you for not giving me a public dressing-down, Your Excellency,” he said, his voice not quite sounding right. Washington couldn’t decide if he really expected something along those lines to happen, or if he was just giving him attitude.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Come with me, Lieutenant Colonel, we have much to discuss.”

***

He led Hamilton not to his office, but to his personal quarters. He had a desk in there too, in case he had to look after matters in the middle of the night, but other than Hamilton, he didn’t think any of his aides had ever been inside.

Hamilton stopped in front of the desk, his spine a hard line of forged iron. It was shocking to see him without his uniform, though not unbecoming. 

“I have to say,” Washington started, “I’m dismayed that you would just up and leave when there is a cause to serve. A cause that you have pledged multiple times to hold dear, might I add... I don’t think I have to lay out for you what that sequence of actions would have resulted in, Lieutenant Colonel. You’ve penned enough of my orders concerning desertion to know that I’m not taking it lightly.”

Hamilton stiffened even further, though just a few seconds ago that didn’t seem possible. Washington didn’t sit, but he did circle his desk to put it between them. If only for the boy’s benefit.

“Nonetheless. You are here now, and I’m hoping that we will find a solution to settle our differences and correct your behavior in a way that will let us both grow with the experience.”

Hamilton wasn’t looking at him anymore, staring straight forward, eyes glued to an indiscriminate spot on the wall. His jaw twitched at his commander’s words, but otherwise he made no movement. If anything,  _ that  _ was an unusual occurrence; he couldn't remember a time when Hamilton didn’t voice his opinions bright and clear, with only the minimal amount of courtesy towards his superiors.

He didn’t know if he wanted to bait Hamilton until his uncharacteristic reserve broke, or if he wanted to appease him. Looking at him standing there, still and silent made him realize that this wonderful, genious young man was full of contradictions; a body that most deemed underwhelming that contained a spirit larger than it had any right to be. A mouth with soft lips and a cutting tongue. An ambition hot and burning paired with a reverent sense of duty.

Hamilton was a study in contradictions and Washington couldn’t help but be intrigued to the marrow of his bones.

“It looks to me, Lieutenant Colonel, that you have made the erroneous assumption that you can simply strip off the consequences of your actions, like they are just pieces of your garments,” he said, running his hand over the back of his chair.

Hamilton’s eyes followed, widening minutely as he noticed his own coat, carefully folded over the wood.

Washington sighed. He liked to think that he knew how to treat his aides. He payed attention and played on their strengths, using a firm hand on those in need of it, and gentle nudges on the ones requiring a more delicate touch. He could never quite figure out Hamilton. The boy had looked starved for praise - an overachiever in the best ways - but when he had tried to give it to him in the past - calling him  _ son  _ and treating him like the cherished part of his family that he was - he suddenly closed off, like he was mortally wounded in his pride. 

So Washington had opted to take a more hands-off approach. He’d quickly realized that Hamilton did exceptionally well when he was under heightened pressure but allowed to run free, seamlessly taking over responsibilities much larger than his station would have allowed him to have.

But as it became apparent, that approach didn’t work out quite that well either, considering that the silly boy had just resigned, and was almost foolish enough to run away like a child without getting properly discharged as an army officer should.

In the end it seemed that his best bet was to try again, and give him all the attention he deserved, whatever means necessary. But first, he had to get through to him; to the young man under the uniform, the pride, and the attitude.

“Since you saw this as proper behavior, I will humor you, and we shall continue in the same vein,” he said finally, deciding on a route of action. This was a battle and hopefully it would lead to winning the war. Maybe not just figuratively.

“First of all, in the spirit of our Lady Justice, I will admit to have wronged you. I shouldn’t have been quite that harsh in your reprimand, even though at the time I felt to be in the right, so here is my token for the mistake I made” he said, pulling off his own jacket, and placing it over Hamilton’s on the back of the chair. 

He could see the young man following his every movement with his eyes, a muscle in his tightly closed jaw twitching again.

“I want you to know that I deeply regret my words. You’ve never been anything but respectful towards me since you’ve came into your position - and I do know how hard that must be for you, since I get at least one complaint a day from my officers about your insubordination,” he said, raising an eyebrow. For a second Hamilton caught his eyes, but then quickly glanced away, his expression carefully neutral, but full of tension.

“Your gravest shortcoming, Lieutenant Colonel, is that you - despite the brilliance of your mind, or maybe because of it - often jump to the most far fetched conclusions, and don't even try to confirm or refute them.”

He could see that the man was just itching to shoot off a retort to his words, but reigned himself in in the last second. It was admirable, especially knowing Hamilton’s quick tongue.

“Let us not pretend that your recent… lapse of judgment is solely the result of our little argument,” he said, turning to the window to give a brief shelter to his aide, away from his searching gaze. “You have requested a field commission from me, on numerous occasions and I do not doubt that my rebuttal had been a thorn in your side ever since.”

Through the window, he could see Lafayette and Laurens talking in front of the building. For the casual observer they appeared to be there only by chance, but Washington had the feeling that they were - in their own way - guarding the privacy he sorely needed to deal with Hamilton. Good men, those two.

“Now, Lieutenant Colonel, I implore you to recall even one occurrence when you actually asked me for the reasons of my refusal.”

There was silence behind him. Washington turned back, walking up to Hamilton and stopping in front of him. He looked into the boy’s eyes and was nearly compelled to smile at the stubborn, mulish sentiment he found in them. Very well. It appeared to be time to shed another layer of the walls that made his Hamilton such a hard nut to crack.

The boy didn’t flinch when Washington's thick fingers reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, but it was a near thing. He paid careful, deliberate attention to every twitch of the young man, not wanting to cross the line between them the wrong way. Oh, he had no doubt that he was toeing it - or dancing along it, more likely - but his aim wasn’t to humiliate or terrify Hamilton.

Alexander stood straight and still, if a little pale as his commander slowly worked the buttons loose, one by one.

When he was finished he rounded the young man and gently slid the buff fabric off him. He didn’t think he imagined the shiver in Alexander’s frame.

Washington stayed silent as he made his way over to his chair, taking care with the waistcoat, knowing how much Hamilton cared about the condition of his uniform. When he looked up, he couldn’t help but notice that the dark outline of Alexander’s nipples - hard and poking against the thin cotton of his shirt - were clearly visible. He would have lied if he said he didn’t need a second to collect himself after the realization.

“You’re missing your undershirt, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, frowning.

They were not yet out of the damned winter, and he didn’t like the fact that the most important person on his staff was not dressed appropriately for the weather. It wasn’t a dressing code violation exactly, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Hamilton swallowed, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. Where he’d been pale before there were two bright spots of color high in his cheeks. Washington couldn’t decide if they were there out of embarrassment or... something else.

“I spilled ink on it, Sir,” Alexander told him, speaking up for the first time since they came into the room. Washington hummed under his breath. 

“And you had no other undershirt?” he asked, a bit baffled. The redness of Alexander’s face blossomed further, now clearly signalling his humiliation. 

“No, Sir, the other one is… in need of a washing,” he bit out. 

Oh. Of course, he knew that Alexander came from a… humbler background than most of his aides, but those stark lines between the wealthy and the poor were washed away under the uniforms of war. He should have paid more attention to that; the officers usually bought their own garments, and he was amiss to forget that Hamilton might not be able to do that quite so easily.

Washington was careful not to let his surprise show.

“That is most unfortunate, I apologize for the oversight. You should request some from the supply officers; I would be quite the useless commander if I couldn’t cloth my soldiers up to standards.”

Not to mention how enormous of a role Hamilton played in the continental army even  _ getting  _ adequate supplies. Just the thought that he was missing anything that others of his position could take for granted was outrageous. It looked like Hamilton relaxed - if only a miniscule fraction - when he realized that he wouldn’t be reprimanded or made fun of.

Washington waved his hand in the air, trying to shoo away the subject. It wasn’t what they were here to discuss.

When he looked back at the boy, he managed to catch a flash of pain across his face. He was scared for a second that he’d went too far, but then Hamilton quickly schooled his features back into the bland mask of indifference, staring straight ahead like the perfect little soldier.

That fleeting expression didn’t look akin to emotional distress, much more like…

He took in his aide-de-camp with the focus of a general who was used to taking into account every little detail in his plans.

Hamilton had dark circles under his eyes, the shadow tucked into the corner of his mouth a bit deeper than usual. While he was standing with his whole body at attention, there was something not quite right in the rigid slope of his shoulders.

Washington did not like the visage he made. He made a slow circle around his boy, his hands clasped behind his back, dark eyes trained closely on him to take in all that was there to see.

He stopped in front of Hamilton again. His mind was adamant that he should be demanding answers, but he knew better than to listen. Now wasn’t the time to use brute force. Washington relaxed his own posture with great effort, and tried not to let his anger show.

“Are you injured, by any chance, Lieutenant Colonel?” he asked finally.

Hamilton’s eyes were unmistakably nervous as he glanced at his commander, and that was enough to let him know that this line of inquiry was correct.

Hamilton swallowed.

“I’m not  _ injured _ , Sir,” he said, a bit too defensive.

Washington took a deep breath to calm himself. Hamilton was really too smart for his own good, and a master of words - especially when he hoped to get out of all sorts of trouble with their help.

“Alright, Lieutenant Colonel, let me rephrase that. Are you in any pain?”

Hamilton’s fingers spasmed by his side, just the tiniest bit.

“I’m in… mild discomfort, Sir. At most,” He licked his lips, his nerves getting the better of him. “It’s nothing that would stop me from satisfyingly delivering on my duties!... Sir.”

Washington closed his eyes, praying for strength. If Hamilton admitted to even the slightest pain, it had to mean that he was suffering. He hoped to god that it wasn’t some long standing ailment, or he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for missing it before.

“And what is the cause of your ‘mild discomfort’?”

For a few, long moments it looked like Hamilton would refuse to answer at all. He dearly hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, since he wasn’t sure how to punish him for disobedience without completely destroying the precarious balance he was trying to maintain.

Thankfully Hamilton seemed to have been moved by his questioning silence.

“My left shoulder is… somewhat stiff, Your Excellency, that’s all. It’s not unusual, I have a regimen of stretches to deal with it, Sir.”

Washington considered him. On one hand, he didn’t believe that the boy would be foolish enough to lie to his face, on the other, that didn’t seem like the complete truth. If he had such a simple way to ease his own discomfort, then why was he currently in pain? Either he had no time to practice his stretches today - unlikely, since Washington had been out for most of the morning - or his pain had exceeded the usual levels. It was bad enough that he  _ had  _ usual levels of pain. And if he followed his own line of logic - assuming that this ailment had to do with the boy’s workload, considering that he was left handed - then he was missing something big in this picture.

“Hamilton. What was your last task?” 

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember anything that would have demanded such extraordinary exertion. Yes, his aides worked tirelessly, and rarely had the leisure time of field officers out of battle, but Washington liked to think that he wasn’t working his crew to their death.

“Rewriting your correspondence after the reports yesterday, Sir.”

For a moment Washington was overwhelmed by great anger, so much so that he had to turn his back on Hamilton to lean on his desk and just concentrate on his breathing. He slowly and methodically counted to ten before facing the boy again.

“Lieutenant Colonel, there have been twenty six letters in need of work. Of complete  _ recomposing _ . To the best of my knowledge I have thirty two people on my administrative staff.” He had to pause to take a deep breath. “I clearly remember ordering you to ‘give these out for editing.’ Tell me you have not written all the letters yourself.”

Hamilton was decidedly not looking at him. There was a bead of sweat slowly rolling down the side of his face, despite the room not being too warm and the flush on his face returned.

“They contained sensitive information, Sir, I couldn’t possibly just…”

Washington held up his hand, cutting him off. He had to close his eyes for a heartbeat to regain his composure.

“ _ Enough _ . Your shirt, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Sir?” Hamilton’s voice sounded so… tentative, so wary, that it immediately helped calm his temper down. This wasn’t about satisfying his own needs. Quite the opposite.

He stepped up to the boy until they were toe-to-toe, forcing him to look up at Washington, thanks to their notable difference in height.

“Your shirt,” he repeated more quietly. “If I may,” he said, voice much more steady. He looked Hamilton right in the eyes, his hands coming up between them but not starting their work until he received a tense nod.

Hamilton closed his eyes as his commander popped the first button of his shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd finally done! I hope you guys will like how this played out!
> 
> As always, many thanks to the lovely Emma! <3

It was the most curious sensation; the feeling of his knuckles brushing against Hamilton’s chest and picking up the faint vibrations of his heart beating double. The boy remained deceptively silent and unmoving, except for the slight tremor that seemed to have overtaken his body under the hands of his commander.

Washington worked without lingering, but his fingers felt… clumsy in their task, fumbling with the small, pearly buttons in their quest to free the boy of his garment. He knew how carefully he had to tread now, but he remained hopeful that with this last one of the physical barriers between Hamilton and the world gone, he would open up to the care he intended to bestow upon him.

With every button, a new inch of pale skin became visible across Hamilton’s chest, and Washington - although he tried not to - couldn’t help his eyes from wandering, from longing to trace along the opening with his fingers and feel for himself the softness it promised. When he was done, he took Hamilton’s slim, elegant wrists into his hands, one at a time, amazed at how delicate those narrow fingers were compared to his own, and undid his cuffs. The air seemed to have thickened with reverence around them, that Washington felt was more than fitting.

His mouth turned parched as he stepped around Hamilton. He couldn’t help but ponder on how unusual their situation was; he was the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, for all intents and purposes he was the most powerful man on this side of the globe… yet, here he was, slipping the shirt off the lithe shoulders of a boy half his age with no standing and no wealth - like he was nothing more than a humble servant, reduced to the single, fervent wish to do right by his master.

His slowly building impatience compelled him to let the fabric simply slip to the floor, pooling on the ground between them. Hamilton would forgive him for the tardiness, he hoped.

The room was filled with silence, heavy like a blanket of snow over the woods, swallowing up the noises of the outside world. Washington didn’t want to disturb it yet, deciding to just bask in its comforting shelter for a moment, his gaze captivated by the straight, stark lines of Hamilton’s back.

Under the thin, delicate skin he could almost see the muscles contorted into tense, unforgiving knots. His poor Hamilton must have been suffering, and he was dedicated to resolve that.

“At ease,” he said, breaking the silence between them. Hamilton twitched at the command, but he did not relax, his posture still stiff and unforgiving, almost unnatural on someone usually so restless.

“ _ Sir _ ,” Hamilton said, the single word dropping from his lips drenched in emotions too large to express. Washington looked at his nape, half hidden behind his dark curls, and was suddenly certain that Hamilton simply… couldn’t obey. For all the world, it looked like his gingerly maintained self-control was the only thing keeping him together and he didn’t know how to break of it.

That wouldn’t do.

Washington lifted his hand, carefully brushing away Hamilton’s ponytail and grasped the back of his neck, gentle but firm as he squeezed down.

“Alexander, at  _ ease _ ,” he repeated, letting his voice drop and soften until it sounded as intimate as such a vulnerable moment required.

No matter how quiet his words were or how careful his touch was, they seemed sharp enough to cut clean through the taut strings that kept Hamilton’s facade in place.

The boy crumbled under the weight of his palm, listing forward like he would topple without aid, and Washington was quick to react, planting his free hand on his narrow chest, fingers spread, stretching across that hot skin and shielding the wildly thundering heart underneath.

“Easy now, son,” he said hoarsely.

Hamilton grabbed onto his arm, digging into his flesh with surprising - desperate - strength.

“I’m not your  _ son _ ,” he choked out, his voice sounding wet and broken, like Washington had never heard before. Still, he did not try to move away, and the trust he had in his commander, the leap of faith it must have taken for him to let himself be held, supported…  _ cradled  _ between Washington’s arms might just have been the biggest honor ever experienced in his life.

“Alright,” he said, quietly. “My boy then, my wonderful, brilliant boy.”

Alexander shook like a leaf would, helpless against the oncoming hurricane.

“ _ Please _ ,” he said, demanding and scared at the same time.

Washington swallowed, letting go slowly of the hold he had on his boy’s nape, but never breaking contact. He slid his hand slowly lower, pressing against the top of that pronounced, sharp spine, willing his touch to be enough, to ease some of the tension and the ache of nights spent with work and worry.

The sound Alexander made was between anguish and pain, but somehow colored with relief, and so he kept at it, rubbing small, soothing circles against his back until his boy went limp in his arms, held up only by Washington’s strength. That was quite alright, he had enough for the both of them.

Alexander’s legs gave out, and he would have fallen if not for Washington’s quick reflexes, if not for him catching him around his middle before he could hit the floor. He pulled his boy up, gathering his body close against his own chest, amazed and alarmed at how little he weighed, like he was compromised only of his blinding genius.

Alexander looked up at him, his eyes dark and lips parted. Washington wondered for a second if he looked like that too, like he had been swallowed whole by something so much larger than himself.

Before he could stop himself, before he could even get an inkling of what was happening, Washington rutted forward, the line of his hardness unmistakable under the cover of his breeches. Time stopped, as the realization hit him. Never before had he gotten into such a state for a man, outside of the carefully guarded solitude of his nights, and he was overcome with a sense of terror. He feared that he ruined everything, that he most certainly betrayed the trust his… Alexander put in him.

His boy had felt it too, and his breath rushed out of him in a silent exhale, the flush on his cheeks a blossom of red.

“Hamilton…” he started, trying to put some much needed distance between them, not knowing what to say, what to do to make this right. He should have known, he should have felt the heat building inside him, that such intimate actions would lead to this, but he didn’t… maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He was cut off before he could make amends, Alexander clutched at his shoulders, surging up to the tip of his toes, like a man desperate to get his head out of the water, his eyes falling closed as he pressed his hot lips to Washington’s.

He’d been kissed before, but he couldn’t remember anything feeling like the kiss bestowed on him now. Alexander was eager and rough, urgent and aggressive in a way no woman had ever been. Washington felt like he was falling, that he was taken over, lost to sensation, stripped of his control. His hands moved like they had a mind of their own, sliding across his boy’s bare skin hungrily, trying to touch as much of him as they possibly could.

Alexander shivered, and Washington could feel the tremors of it against his lips, could feel the quiet exhale of elation brushing across him.

His legs also betrayed him, stepping without his permission, walking them slowly backwards one inch at a time. Alexander moved with him in perfect synchron, like it was a dance, a slow, hesitant waltz set to the rhythm of their lips sliding against each other.

Reality hit him at the same second the back of his knees came up against the edge of his bed, and he pulled away, blinking his eyes open and not remembering when he closed them.

Alexander looked like an otherworldly creature; his hair broke out of its careful ponytail somewhere along the line, framing his pale face and making his dark eyes stand out even more. The color of his cheeks was outshined only by the pink of his lips, glistening with wetness and so inviting that Washington could hardly hold himself back from diving in for another, glorious taste.

Still. No matter how acutely he could feel the other man’s hardness against the top of his tigh - raking his own arousal even higher - he couldn’t just drag Alexander down with him on this path that led to damnation according to the whole world outside of this room.

It was harder than he thought it possibly could to unclench his hands from around his boy’s slim hips, and - despite his best intentions - he couldn’t keep them completely away; settling his palms on the safer pastures of Alexander’s shoulders.

“Sir,” Alexander said, nothing more than a whisper, but the sound of it was enough to shake him to the core.

“I… My boy, we can’t-” he started, but Alexander didn’t want to hear it, kissing him again, slower but with just as much heat as before. He pushed at Washington’s chest and he was powerless to deny him, sitting heavily on the mattress.

His blood soared when Alexander followed right after him, straddling his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world... And from the way they fit together - the way their twin hardnesses lined up and made both of them short of breath - it did feel like it was.

“Sir, please…” Alexander said, voice rough and deep in contradiction with his eyelashes, long and fluttering against his cheeks as he held onto Washington’s shoulders like a vice. “I  _ need  _ you… Don’t… don’t make me beg!”

He sounded broken and helpless and Washington realized he didn’t want to hear his sweet, darling boy’s voice grow that desperate - not like this, not if he could help it.

His hands spasmed on Alexander’s shoulders and his boy whined, back arching and pressing their chests closer together. Ah, his poor, poor Alexander, still so tightly wound.

Washington was careful next time, digging his fingers in as gently as he could, working on loosening the knots under that perfect stretch of skin. Alexander melted against him, the hard lines of his body softening with bliss. 

“That’s it my boy, let me take care of you,” he said against the vulnerable shell of Alexander’s ear. His boy shivered and moaned, curling against him like a cat would and the image of it made Washington smile. “I wish you took better care of yourself, my dear… I wish you would listen to me and share your burdens so I would not have to see you in pain.”

Alexander burrowed closer, trembling. He hid his face into Washington’s chest, feeling small and light against him. Not like a child, but like a nymph, or a spirit of times long gone.

“Sir,” he said again, like a mantra, the word barely more than a brush of his breath.

“Hush, my sweet boy.”

He didn’t know when Alexander started moving - little twitches of his slim hips against his own, that rubbed their arousals together, kindling their fire until they were panting and lost to the exquisite sensation. Washington never stopped massaging his narrow shoulders, he wasn’t sure he could, he was so desperate to have Alexander under his hands, so needy he was for the knowledge that he was helping him in any way he could.

Alexander’s hands slid lower, traveling down to the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric with white-knuckled fingers, like he was afraid of Washington pushing him away or abandoning him to burn in the slowly building heat between them. 

“I’m here,” he said. “Take what you need, my lovely, wonderful boy.”

His permission was taken as eagerly as it was offered. Washington closed his eyes and pushed his own passion to the background of his mind, concentrating on Alexander moving against him; quicker now, fueled by the sort of urgency only known by such a young body. 

He wouldn’t force and he wouldn’t demand. Maybe like that, if he just let Alexander take and take and take, he would be spared the guilt of corrupting him.

His boy seemed to be above thoughts of morality, his lips open and releasing a string of breathy moans as he rode Washington, the muscles of his thighs visible against the thin fabric of his breeches.

“ _ Sir… _ Sir, Sir…”

He had to swallow and focus on his hands, scared that his control would shatter under the assault of that word that sounded close enough to a prayer that it had to be blasphemy. 

Alexander rutted against him with abandon, uncurling like a flower and looking at him with dark, unfocused eyes. His lips were open, but silent now, struggling to breathe. Washington could feel how close he was, like it was his own pleasure boiling in the boy’s veins.

He cupped his face, the feverish skin of Alexander’s cheeks burning against his palms, and he soothed it with careful swipes of his thumbs.

“Let go, Alexander,” he whispered. The simple command proved to be the key to unleash everything that had built up between them, and he could not stop himself from leaning forward and covering the boy’s slack lips with his own as soon as he saw the ecstasy of completion wash over Alexander’s beautiful face.

He kissed him, and held on as his boy shook and twitched and trembled against him, until he finally went boneless, the hard contours of his frame growing soft as autumn shadows from the balm of satiety.

Washington let him fall forward, plastered against his chest and ran his palms up and down the line of his spine.

“That’s it, sweet boy. You were so good to me.”

Alexander made a little sound that he couldn’t understand but didn’t think he was ever meant to.

“It’s alright, darling. All is well… You need to rest now, my lovely boy.”

He moved carefully, inching backwards on the rough covers of his bed until he could lay them both down, facing each other, still close, trapping the heat of their bodies between them. He made sure that Alexander was on his right side, not wanting to put pressure on his hurt shoulder.

Their fragile bliss only lasted for a few, curt moments.

“Sir… you still… I can, if you wish. I mean, I  _ will _ ,” Alexander said, for once his clever words tied and stumbling as he tried to vocalize his intentions. He didn’t wait for permission, reaching down, wanting to take Washington in his hand, maybe. But he was faster, catching that lovely wrist in his grip and pulling it back up, away from the temptation of his groin.

“I told you, you will rest now,” he said, unable to keep the smile from his voice.

He expected Alexander not to give up, so he didn’t let go of his hand, what’s more, he pulled his other hand in too, holding both effortlessly in one of his own.

Alexander tugged once, stubborn, but the he was caught by a yawn, his nose scrunching up  _ adorably _ , though Washington wouldn’t have said it for the world.

“But… Sir,” he said, his voice already weighed down by sleep enclosing on him.

“Hush, sweet boy,  _ rest _ .”

***

He allowed himself a few stolen moments, letting himself watch Alexander sleep. His face was relaxed and peaceful, and he was overwhelmed by the need to protect it at all costs.

It was inconceivable, how this slight, young man managed to grow so important to him.

He cupped Alexander’s neck, letting his thumb brush his pulse point and bask in the thrum of life underneath.

“I fear you are an Icarus,” he whispered, low as to not wake him. “And if it should be so… let me be the Aegis protecting your wings from the heat of the sun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it!
> 
> You can find me at udunie.tumblr.com!


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